


New Day Dawning

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Gavin’s not the sort to believe in things like luck, but even he can recognize the fact his luck’s been nothing but bad since he ended up in Los Santos.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	New Day Dawning

Gavin’s not the sort to believe in things like luck, but even he can recognize the fact his luck’s been nothing but bad since he ended up in Los Santos.

Mugged his first day in the city and scrambling to make up for it ever since. Bag on his back holding the tools of his trade and what money he had to his name ripped away from him and out of reach before he could get his breath back from a nasty sucker-punch.

The job he’d had lined up falling through when his would-be employer was killed in a police raid and everything that’s happened since.

“Must have been out of my mind to come here in the first place,” Gavin mutters, fumbling with wires he can’t quite see as he works at borrowing some poor man’s car for a bit.

Just long enough to get it to a chop shop and whatever scraps he’ll get for it just to get by the same as he’s been doing for weeks now. Stealing cars and picking pockets with an eye towards getting back on his feet.

Far from the kind of life he imagined for himself when he made arrangements to get here, but that’s where the bad luck comes in, he supposes.

Speaking of?

Gavin looks up as the sounds of sirens he’s gets louder, draws nearer.

Seems to be constant background noise here in Los Santos, but he can’t stop his knee-jerk response to hearing it ever damn time. Keyed up and edging towards paranoid thinking he’s been found out, but this time?

This time it’s coming straight for him, blocks away but still a matter for concern.

Especially when he sees a car come careening around a corner to slam up against the wall of a building across the street from him.

Seen better days, the car has, metal dented and twisted and peppered with bullet holes. Tires long gone, either victims to more bullets or being pushed too hard, Gavin doesn’t know. Doesn’t have the time to wonder because the driver’s shoving the car door open and staggering out of the fully wrecked car.

Big bastard, lumbers about for a bit before he seems to regain his bearings, head swinging right around to look at Gavin, which.

Perfect.

Gavin had thought so too, when he happened by this quiet little side street. Nice and lovely and would you just look at that pretty little car sitting all alone without anyone around?

Only now there’s Gavin, struggling to hotwire that pretty little car and the man who came along to toss a wrench into the mess he was making of it all.

Big bastard who has a gun aimed at Gavin and this is just his luck, isn’t it?

Slowly, carefully, Gavin lets go of the wires he’s still holding and brings his hands up nice and easy. Nothing in them, and aside from a bit of a misdemeanor in progress he’s no trouble at all, really.

The man doesn’t seem to buy it, eyes narrowing behind that raggedy ski mask of his, and for a moment Gavin’s sure he’s going to pull the trigger.

And then that moment passes, rolls right on into another with the two of them staring at each other, sirens drawing nearer and nearer.

So.

Gavin clears his throat, tips his head towards the direction the sirens seem to be coming from (odd how it’s the same one the man himself did) and raises his eyebrows.

“Not to push my luck,” Gavin says, because of course he does. “But if you’re going to do something, you ought to do it soon, don’t you think?”

Gavin is an idiot, isn’t he? 

The man mulls it over for another moment, and then he’s striding forward.

Or tries to, but it seems he didn’t come out of the crash unscathed.

Starts out full of intent, but something gives and he stumbles. Almost falls before he rights himself, grunt of pain reaching Gavin. (Sounds like a snarl.)

Gavin’s not stupid, no matter what it might look like sometimes.

Cops are getting closer and the man in front of him is hauling himself over to the car Gavin was in the process of stealing. (Shuffling, really, and it looks painful.)

Bad odds no matter how you look at it, but one thing Gavin’s learned since he came to Los Santos is the cops here are worse than the criminals. Shoot first and ask questions second types, and that’s when they bother with the questions at all.

So Gavin weighs his chances. That luck of his and the man in front of him limping his way.

Could have shot Gavin and been done with it, just another statistic to add to all the others and yet he didn’t. (Still could, Gavin knows, still could.)

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me,” Gavin says, making his mind up because what’s one more stupid decisions after all the ones he’s already made?

Keeps his hands visible, does his best to radiate _harmless, totally harmless, no need for violence, yeah?_ as he makes his way over to the man.

Not just his leg bothering him, blood staining his left shoulder and this barely noticeable hitch to his breathing as Gavin stares up at him. (Couple of inches of height on Gavin, if that, but it matters in a city like this.)

There’s a little stare-off, and then Gavin sighs because he’s obviously a bit dense.

“Come on,” Gavin says, and slips under the man’s arm, careful not to go near the hand holding the gun in a death grip. Knows it would be a mistake to try. “Let’s get moving, yeah?”

Winces a little because he can feel blood soaking through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing, but keeps on moving. One foot in front of the other and bearing more of the man’s weight than he thought he would. (No harm, though. Gavin’s stronger than he looks.)

The man’s gone all tense on him, and Gavin rolls his eyes as he manhandles him into the passenger seat of the car, keenly aware of the liberties he’s taking. Expects a bullet for his troubles as he dashes back around to the driver side and picks the wires back u.

Fumbles with them with an increasing sense of urgency until he gets it right, the car’s engine rattling to life. Sputters and shudders for a bit which is alarming, but it soon sorts itself out to end at a rough rumble.

“Jesus,” Gavin hears as he slams his door shut and puts the car into gear. “Your technique is horrible.”

Gavin bares his teeth in a _polite_ smile as he glances at the man seated next to him. 

Smells like blood and looks like death warmed over, as the saying goes.

This close Gavin can see he’s got unsettling pale eyes and something like face paint on under the ragged ski mask of his.

“Yes, well,” Gavin says, just as he catches flashes of red and blue from the corner of his eye as the cops zero in on their quiet little alley. “Now’s not exactly the time for critiques, don’t you think?”

The man opens his mouth like he wants to argue the point and Gavin steps on the gas, pretty little car shooting forward with a coughing bark of its engine. Doesn’t quite rocket past the cops as barely scrape by, but it’s more than enough.

Has them popping out onto a busy street – gets a startled yelp from his passenger as they barely avoid hitting a box truck – and then Gavin’s got things more or less under control.

Pretty little car, sure, but it handles like utter shite.

Fishtails wildly when he takes a corner too sharp, barely managed to get it back under control before they hit a streetlamp, but he does it.

Laughs a little because this is a disaster, but then they’re weaving through traffic leaving the cops behind and somehow still alive, which is always a bonus in his book.

========

Injured passenger and cops on alert and really, really, Gavin doesn’t know the city half as well as he’d like.

Few resources to his name and while he’s making strides to rectify that situation, it doesn’t help much in the here and now.

His passenger’s gone quiet now that Gavin isn’t driving like an absolute maniac. 

Quiet and watchful and Gavin’s still very much aware of the gun he’s carrying, likelihood it’s not the only weapon on him. (Gavin’s got a cheap little knife and third-rate lock picks, other bits and bobs he’s picked up recently to his name.)

“I don’t suppose there’s anywhere you’d like me to drop you off?” Gavin says, lame attempt at a joke and no surprise when there’s no response.

Just a soft sigh, long exhale, as streets go by and the sound of sirens fade into nothing behind them.

Gavin taps his thumb against the steering wheel, eyes going to the rear-view before he makes a decision.

Not as hard as he thought it would be because he’s got few resources to his name in Los Santos, it’s true, but he has them.

One of which is a terrible little motel room paid for until the end of the week and no need for ID or anything like it when cash is on the table, and really, really.

Better than going wherever his passenger calls home, or the closest thing to it, anyway.

“Alright then,” Gavin says, and leaves off the aimless driving for a specific destination.

Gets a suspicious look from his passenger, implied threat when he flashes that gun of his at Gavin – just under the window-line in case anyone happens to look their way – and narrowed eyes.

Gavin shrugs because - 

Well, because.

It’s been a long day.

“Might not be a good idea,” he says, risks a little smirk because of course he does. “We did just lose the cops.”

And oh, but his passenger doesn’t like that, does he? Another little growl, although those are starting to lose their impact the longer things go on. Getting to be somewhat ridiculous, really.

A few blocks later there’s a huff beside him, and when Gavin chances a look sees his passenger is – he’s _pouting_. 

Unused to someone who isn’t all-over intimidated by him maybe, or something else, and it’s damn hilarious.

Not that Gavin’s stupid enough to say that aloud, no.

He would never.

========

(Maybe a little.)

========

There’s a gun on Gavin (again) and an unimpressed glower aimed his way ( _again_ ), but Gavin can’t be bothered about any of it.

Not when the man is making an absolute mess of things. (Gavin can do a better job it if he’d just _let him_.)

“God sakes,” Gavin mutters when the idiot insists on continuing with his botch job. Smacks his hand away from the medical kit precariously perched on the edge of the bathroom sink. “Stop, stop, stop, you’re making it worse.”

Torn skin and tissue and a complete idiot attempting to piece it all back together with one hand while he threatens Gavin with the other. Stubborn and stupid with it and bleeding all over the place with his damned posturing.

The glower intensifies, and the gun gets a little waggle. Reminder that yes, he could put a bullet in Gavin and continue turning himself into a jigsaw puzzle mess if he wanted. 

Very threatening, that.

(And yet he doesn’t.)

“Give it here,” Gavin says, and plucks the medical kit away from the man’s reaching hand, putting it neatly out of range of utter idiots for the time being.

Gavin’s never been keen on this aspect of the life he’s found himself in, but that was never something he had a say in. It’s not safe, this life, and things happen.

Lucky if you can walk away from whatever comes your way at the end of the day and all.

He’s learned things here and there. Trial and error and lessons learned the hard way. All sorts of things that taught him to neaten his stitches up, things to look out for when it came to injuries and infection and so on. (What he could do for himself, what he had to turn to others for help no matter the risks involved.)

This idiot he’s stuck with seems to have some bit of luck on his side in an injury that looks worse than it is. Ugly and messy, but still something that won’t require more skill to treat than what Gavin’s capable of.

“That thing about not shooting me?” Gavin mutters, rooting around for what he needs. “Still stands, by the way.”

When he looks up at the man studying him.

Puzzled tilt to his head like he can’t fathom what Gavin’s angle in all of this is, what he hopes to gain from it. (If he comes to a conclusion Gavin would love to hear it because even he doesn’t know.)

Gavin shakes his head and sets about patching him up.

The silence gets to him after a few minutes, and since it looks like the man won’t be the one to break the ice?

“I’m Gavin,” he says, eyeing his work critically.

Ugly patchwork to be sure, but a damn sight better than what the man was attempting to do himself.

Gavin’s not expecting a response to that, so the fact he gets one is startling.

“...Ryan,” the man says, gruff and grudging and very much like he’d claim Gavin misheard if Gavin makes an issue of it.

Head turned away from him when Gavin looks up, jaw clenched under that ski mask of his.

Which.

_Ridiculous._

Gavin hums, because it’s hardly the sort of name he’d expect from someone like him, but not a bad name, now is it?

“Lovely to meet you, Ryan,” Gavin says, because the day hasn’t been absurd enough as it is. 

Ryan doesn’t sigh so much as he exhales.

Aggressively.

“I’d say the same,” Ryan says, making an odd gesture with the hand holding the gun and almost undoing Gavin’s hard work. “But, well. You know.”

Yes, Gavin does. Very much so.

Still, all he does is nod and move on to the matter of Ryan’s ribs and that ugly bruising he can see coming up with Ryan’s shirt off. 

Horrifically pale skin marred by all kinds of scars that has Gavin looking up to meet Ryan’s gaze in something like – it’s not shock so much as something Gavin can’t quite explain to himself.

He barely knows Ryan, definitely shouldn’t be overly concerned about his well-being considering the circumstances, and yet?

There are a lot of scars on display. Nasty, ugly ones that aren’t the sort you get from a simple mistake or miscalculation. From being too slow or simply stupidly reckless. 

Ryan looks back at Gavin, steady and calm like he’s made his peace with that aspect of his life, doesn’t think about it anymore. Cost of doing business in this life of theirs, and Ryan strikes Gavin as being more of the hands on type than he is. Built for taking things on in a more direct manner and not shy about it.

“Alright,” Gavin says again, because that’s just the way things are for people like them, isn’t it? “Might as well get on with things, yeah?”

========

It’s late by the time Gavin finishes putting Ryan back to sorts best he can. Close to midnight if the alarm clock on the end table is right.

Bullied him out of the bathroom to let Gavin clean himself up. Trade out his bloodied up t-shirt for something less incriminating and take a good long look at himself in the dirty mirror over the sink.

He’s tired and this side of annoyed at the way Ryan seems baffled at what to do next.

Terrible little motel room, awful décor that looks like it came from the seventies and one bed in the middle of it all.

Ryan’s standing by the chipped dresser, all awkward about things and has thankfully put that gun of his away, but still.

Awkward man.

Gavin sighs, and waves Ryan towards the bed as he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair he left there what feels like ages ago. Didn’t see the need for it at the time with the warm weather Los Santos has been enjoying lately.

“You should take the bed,” Gavin says, when Ryan doesn’t so much as budge. “Injuries and all.”

Would be better for him than the hard floor, and why, why, _why_ Gavin hasn’t up and run with all the opportunities he’s had by now he doesn’t know.

Apathy, maybe?

Or perhaps it the way Ryan looks so...Gavin doesn’t even know.

Sad, really.

Awkward and baffled, and it’s obvious his day didn’t go the way he expected it to either and is trying to come to grips with that.

That might change in the morning, Ryan having time to think things through. Realize Gavin’s a liability he can’t afford or something else along those lines and everything that happened before unimportant, who can say.

Gavin focuses on making himself a little nest on the floor from bits of clothing he dropped here or there. The ragged little bag he picked up from a thrift store full of bits and bobs and randomness as an uncomfortably lumpy pillow.

Ryan makes this noise, somewhere between a grunt and snort and makes his unsteady way to the bed.

========

“I don’t get you,” Gavin hears.

Quiet. Thoughtful.

Gavin can’t have slept for more than an hour and here Ryan is getting all...thinky.

Gavin groans and throws his arm over his eyes. 

“I mean,” Ryan goes on, not getting the memo. “I threatened you.”

Repeatedly.

Gavin breathes out, long and slow, and listens to Ryan ramble on. 

He has a nice voice, Gavin’s noticed. Hard to tell before with all the grunting and growling and ridiculous little threats of his.

Lovely to listen to, and Gavin does. 

Tired and aching and in what has to be one of the oddest situations of his life, and that’s saying something.

Lets it wash over him without bothering to listen to the words. 

More of the same and something about Gavin being an idiot which is nothing new, and from the sounds of it Ryan being so far past tired himself he’s come right back around the other side of it. 

Rise and fall of Ryan’s voice and Gavin’s own exhaustion after a trying day and soon enough he finds himself drifting towards sleep.

Bad idea, probably. 

Should hear Ryan out, offer up points in his favor and all that. Give Ryan excellent reasons why he should let Gavin live after all this, but, well.

He doesn’t.

========

Gavin wakes up a few hours later just as the sun starts creeping over the horizon. 

Has a moment where he has no idea where he is or what happened to land him on the floor of a terrible motel room in a makeshift nest.

And then he hears breathing not his own and glances over at the bed and remembers and kind of wishes he didn’t.

Rubs his face and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do now, because honestly. 

What does he do now?

There’s a snort-snuffle-snore from the bed and Ryan shifts in his sleep, lets out this pained little noise as he does and somehow doesn’t wake up. Exhaustion or something else, and it’s a relief.

Gives Gavin more time to think, staring up at the motel room ceiling with Ryan’s breathing in the background counterpoint to the muted sound of traffic outside.

And then his stomach growls, reminding him the last time he ate was...too goddamned long ago. Skipped a few meals, more than a few. The money he was hoping to use to rectify that with a bit of auto theft slipping through his fingers when Ryan burst on the scene with his everything.

Another little gurgly growl from his stomach comes, and Gavin sighs as he quietly gets up. Tucks the remnants of his nest against the wall neatly as he can and takes stock of things now he’s on his feet again.

Ryan more or less dead to the world on the bed, and the jumbled mess of Gavin’s life at the moment spread around him.

Not a lot to his name anymore, and more than half of what there is stolen. (There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, he thinks with dark amusement and no little resignation.)

Sometime in the night Ryan’s ski mask worked its way off his head, face pressed into a pillow. If Gavin took a step to his right, he could get a good look at the man’s face, but for some reason he doesn’t.

Thinks about it for a second, though.

Stands there watching Ryan sleep and thinks about how damn complicated he’s made things for Gavin. Cost him money and time when he interrupted Gavin’s work the day before, how Gavin doesn’t owe him a damn thing after all that.

(About the way Ryan insisted on keeping the ridiculous ski mask on, dark smudges of face paint Gavin can see on his face even now.)

“Dammit,” Gavin sighs, because he’s an idiot, isn’t he?

(Yes. Yes he is.)

Gavin turns around and hunts for his shoes, taking care not to make too much noise. Steps into his shoes, zips his jacket up and slips out the door in search of food instead.

========

It doesn’t take long for Gavin to get his sticky little fingers on enough money to pay for doughnuts and coffee that he eats on the go.

Takes a long walk while debating what to do about the current state of his life.

The bit about not having much to his name anymore back in that terrible little motel room, nothing he’d feel regret over leaving behind. Could just keep walking and lose himself in the hustle and bustle of Los Santos all over again if he wanted.

Get ambitious and leave the damn place behind, even. Find somewhere else to continue making a mess of his life in new and exciting ways.

It’s...certainly a thought, isn’t it.

One he mulls over in his head until he finds himself passing by shops on the beach. Looks over to see one of the workers extolling the virtues of their wares to passersby.

Usual array of hats and scarves you’d expect, and then there are the masks. Cheap little rubber things you’d find at Halloween or a costume shop.

Gavin recoils as the worker shoves a mask in his face, exaggerated features and overall revolting. Puts his hands up to ward the overly enthusiastic worker off because he has no interest in buying anything - 

But the worker is persistent.

Backs up a few steps to give Gavin his space and apologizes and waves a hand at one of the tables covered in displays.

“We just got these in stock!” he says, bright and cheery and more than a little manic with it. “Top notch quality!”

Gavin tries to leave, keep moving, but the worker is _persistent_.

Doesn’t invade Gavin’s space again, no, but he grabs one of the mannequin heads wearing a mask and waves it at Gavin. 

Ridiculous looking thing, that black skull mask, like something you’d see in a terrible movie.

An idiot thinking it made them look menacing, striking fear into the hearts of their enemies or some other nonsense.

========

Of course Gavin buys it.

========

Ryan’s awake when Gavin gets back to that terrible little motel room.

“If you shoot me, I’ll end up dropping your coffee,” Gavin says when he’s faced with a gun aimed in his direction the moment he walks through the door.

(Again.)

Ryan cocks his head, eyes dipping to the coffee Gavin is indeed carrying, as well as a couple of bags.

“That’s fine by me,” he says, little curl of amusement to his voice. “I’m not much for coffee.”

Gavin just looks at Ryan.

He hasn’t bothered with the ski mask but has somehow found the time and resources to reapply his face paint, because of course he has.

Ryan snorts and lowers the gun. Turns back to the phone he was presumably fussing with before Gavin interrupted him.

Gavin rolls his eyes and goes over to the small table Ryan’s sitting at and sets the coffee and bags down next to him.

Shrugs at the look Ryan gives him, touch of suspicion and confusion.

“Thought you might want something to eat,” he says.

Stopped by the doughnut shop to get something for Ryan on his way back to the motel. Didn’t know his preferences, so he kept it simple, and Gavin could always use the coffee if Ryan doesn’t want it.

He gets a raised eyebrow for that, which isn’t completely unwarranted at this point.

“And that?” he asks, gesturing at the bag bearing the logo from the mask shop.

Gavin shrugs again, feels his mouth stretch into something very much like a smirk.

“Just a little something that reminded me of you,” he says, and walks past Ryan to put his things in some semblance of order seeing as he has a guest over.

Feels Ryan watching him and pretends he doesn’t. Smiles to himself when he hears a little noise of annoyance and rustling of Ryan investigating the contents of the bags.

This surprised silence, and then an exasperated sigh.

“Really?” 

Gavin snorts, glancing over his shoulder at Ryan who’s holding the damn skull mask up with a look of – it’s awfully like annoyance on his face.

“Well,” he says. “That ski mask of yours seemed to be at the end of its life, so.”

Ragged little thing all bloodied up from whatever the hell Ryan had gotten himself into catch the LSPD’s attention the way he had, and cheap seams coming undone. (Loose threads and all.)

Ryan shakes his head and turns his attention back to the mask. Seems bemused, which is fair, considering.

Probably not used to being given gifts by people he’s...whatever he’s done to Gavin.

Can’t rightly call it a kidnapping or abduction since Gavin’s the one who hustled him into the car he was in the process of stealing. Got them away from the cops and into safety in his motel room and every other bad decision that had Gavin choosing not to leave when he had the opportunity.

Perhaps there really is something in the water in Los Santos that does that to people. Has them making terrible decisions like that for no damn reason.

“Well, uh,” Ryan says, awkward as hell about it. Shrugs. “Thanks, I guess?”

========

“Why?”

Gavin looks up from his phone with a frown.

Ryan’s watching him, intent look on his face and this.

It’s. 

Gavin doesn’t know what going on behind his eyes.

Suspicion, because of course. Confusion, which. Count Gavin down for that as well. And then all the other things lumped in there as well.

“What?”

Frustration, too, as Ryan waves his hand to indicate the two of them. The terrible little motel room.

Everything.

And Gavin, you see, Gavin.

Not the sort to believe in things like luck, but still able to recognize he’s had an exceptionally bad run of it since he ended up in Los Santos.

Can see when someone else is having a shit time of it themselves, and there’s no denying that’s what was going on with Ryan when their paths crossed.

That Ryan could have killed him so damn easily yesterday and hadn’t. 

He’d certainly postured and loomed and snarled and growled, but wouldn’t have had to bother with any of it if he’d just shot Gavin the moment he saw him. Dealt with a potential threat, problem, without a second thought and gone on his way, wherever that would have led him.

Gavin watches Ryan watching him and has no idea how to answer him, so instead he takes one of the coins he got back as change from the doughnut shop and holds it up.

“What do you think the odds of getting three heads in a row are if I flip this coin?”

========

Ryan is surprisingly passionate when it comes to things like math and science and all that.

“You’re a monster of a human being,” Ryan mutters, holding still while Gavin changes his bandages. “And that’s saying something coming from me.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, even though he doesn’t doubt it. 

Ryan _is_ a bit of a bastard.

“Of course, of course,” he soothes, because Gavin is too. “Absolutely.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow, and Gavin bits his lip to keep from laughing. (Rude of him and all.)

========

“You look ridiculous,” Gavin says, watching Ryan examine his reflection.

He’s wearing the mask Gavin bought on a whim. Silly little joke that doesn’t really make sense when you think about it.

“Thanks,” Ryan says, voice dry as anything. “Means a lot.”

Ryan looks...well.

Frankly, he looks like an idiot.

And somehow he manages to make the mask work for him.

========

Ryan really is an awkward bastard, isn’t he?

Likes to play up the dark and menacing act of his, but when it comes down to it he’s just all-over awkward about things.

“Uh,” he says, darting little looks at Gavin. “I never did thank you, did I?”

Gavin looks over at him. Big awkward idiot holding a cheap rubber mask in one hand. Looks like he’s had a rough time of it, tired and drawn and bruised up, and yet.

“No,” Gavin says, but he’s smiling as he does. “But I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Strange circumstances that tossed them together and all that. Hard to find a card to fit the occasion.

Ryan frowns, and Gavin shrugs. (Does a lot of that with Ryan it would seem.)

“Well,” Ryan says, and is that annoyance in his voice? “Thanks.”

Stupid, awkward bastard.

“You’re welcome,” Gavin says, and watches Ryan leave because of course he does. 

(Can’t stay in that terrible little motel room forever doing whatever it is they think they’re doing.)

========

Los Santos is a hell of a city.

All kinds of people end up there, do all kinds of things to get by.

Someone like Gavin, well they do whatever they have to.

Run and steal and hide, plant seeds here and there and hope they bear fruit later down the road.

Don’t trust to luck because that’s asking for trouble, but sometimes?

Well.

Sometimes he doesn’t have a say in things like that.

========

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Gavin hears, focus on getting out of the iron grip of the bastard who caught him trying to pick his pocket before things turn ugly on him. “ _Seriously?_ ”

Gavin opens his mouth to retort, more reflex than anything, before his brain fully processes what just happened. 

“No, really,” the voice goes on, hold on his wrist shifting to something less painful. “What are the odds?”

It’s Ryan, because of course it is.

He’s dressed like anyone else walking around Los Santos, no sign of the man Gavin met weeks ago in a quiet little alley.

No face paint or raggedy ski mask. Not even the silly rubber mask Gavin gave him, although he’s sure to have thrown it away by now.

Just a normal looking man with unsettling pale eyes looking at Gavin in disbelief.

He looks far better than the last time they saw one another, looks good.

Gavin coughs, clears his throat and pulls his arm towards himself once more, gentle tug to see what Ryan will do.

They’re on a busy sidewalk, people passing by without giving them a second glance, but that could change in the blink of an eye and they both know it. 

Average Los Santos resident Ryan and dirty little thief Gavin picking his pocket and there are laws against that, you know.

Ryan’s gaze drops to his hand wrapped around Gavin’s wrist, and just like that he lets go without a word.

Looks back up at Gavin like he doesn’t know what to do now, which happens to be mutual.

But.

“I have a coin in my pocket,” Gavin says with a helpless little smile, because what are the odds indeed? “We could figure it out if you’d like?”

========

“Fucking, _no_ ,” Ryan snarls, hours later at some all-night diner, slapping his hand down over Gavin's coin. “We’re not talking about this ever again because you’re wrong and I hate you.”

Gavin’s laughing too hard to argue, breathless with it, but he figures they can save this little debate of theirs for another day if Ryan wants. Plenty of time for it, and anyway, anyway, there are so many other things he can think to ask him in the meantime.


End file.
